


Voodoo

by MistressPandora



Series: The Metallicar Soundtrack [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Horror, Light Angst, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: In 1930 a very human Benjamin Lafitte traveled to New Orleans trying to save his cafe from the financial wasteland that had become his hometown of Carencro, LA. There he met a monster who took him to "church" and introduced him to God. Benny's origin story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Godsmack's "[Voodoo](https://youtu.be/9SSUQxGjZZ4)"

As soon as the first blow connected with the back of his head, Benny figured he had probably made a mistake. By the second, he was sure he was a dead man and he was kicking himself for following that slick character out of the city. Benjamin Lafitte, bona fide dumbass, had left his little town of Carencro, Louisiana, for New Orleans. His wife was back home, manning their dying cafe while he sought out a loan to save it. _Just to get through this rough patch, Cher_ , he’d said. It killed his pride to admit that they needed the help, much less to go begging for it, but there were people jumping off buildings and bridges like it was the hot, new thing to do.

 _Well_ , he thought, _don’t seem my pride’ll be all that dies tonight_. As a third blow brought blackness over his eyes, he thought it was just a shame that he couldn’t afford that life insurance policy.

 

 An icy slap across his face brought him around again. Benny startled, his heart damn-near grinding to a halt in his chest when he realized he couldn’t move his arms. He looked down slowly and was stupidly relieved to see he was merely shackled to a metal grate. Benny took a couple breaths, trying out his lungs as if they might be on the fritz. Once his heart stuttered back into motion, he looked around. He had to squint to see in the dark room, lit only by a few candles. His eyes slowly adjusted and fell on the man who’d, presumably, been kind enough to slap the hell out of him with that cold hand. “Wh-w--” Benny began. He forced saliva onto his tongue and tried to speak again. “Where am I?”

The man crouched in front of him, Benny realized, was the same slick cat in a pristine suit that he’d followed off the Rue Bourbon. The man was grinning like a hungry tiger, something fierce and terrible and staring at its next meal. He was practically snarling. “Why, you’re in church, you pretty thing.”

Benny looked around again, now that he could see. He saw no crucifixes, no stained glass, nothing to suggest a place of Christian worship. There were no chickens or poppets or the like, so he didn’t think this man was talking about voodoo either. Benny tended to default to sarcasm and bravado when he was nervous, so of course he said, “Perfect. I’m due for Confession. If you’ll just point me in the direction of the Priest, I’ll be on my merry.”

The man’s sneer hardened. “Perhaps I should have said ‘House of God.’” He leaned closer and with a dagger sliced off the top two buttons of Benny’s shirt. “But I’m sure the Old Man will hear your sins.”

“Now I’m not one to judge, but I don’t intend to be sinning quite like _that_ ,” Benny said. His voice trembled and he cursed it internally. As the dagger grazed his throat, Benny’s thoughts strayed to his wife and his son back home. And to think he almost let his boy come with him. Thank the Almighty he’d said no. Twelve-years-old was hardly a man and a terrible age to lose a father, but at least his Elizabeth wouldn’t be all alone. Benny closed his eyes and a tear fell despite his best efforts to the contrary.

The man’s hot breath was on his face then, his tongue scraping against the stubble on Benny’s cheek as he licked away the saline. The wet sound of tearing flesh drew Benny’s attention back to the man who was now straddling his lap and he opened his eyes to see a mouthful of sharp fangs in front of him. Terror flooded his body, turning his blood to ice in the kind of primal fear leftover from the days when mankind was routinely eaten by predators.

Predators. Like this thing leaning over him.

“The Old Man likes it when the new ones are nearly empty.”

Benny squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, which only served to give the thing a clear shot at his neck. What felt like thirty thick needles scraped at his skin. As hard and as fast as Benny’s heart was pounding, he was certain that he’d bleed out from so much as a paper cut. The thing was still talking, lips wet against Benny’s throat. “He’s a Savior, you know. I give you the kiss of death….” He could feel the fangs behind the lips pressed to his throat. Benny sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, every hair across his body standing on end. “...And He gives you the Kiss of Life. It’s all very… spiritual.”

Then it happened. It only hurt at first, as those fat needles sank into his throat. Once Benny could feel blood rushing from a wound the size of a woman’s hand, the pain subsided and was replaced by a violent chill that wracked his body. From head to toe Benny shivered, though he was covered in sweat. The monster--Benny was certain he knew the name for it but couldn’t think of it--pressed itself against him, arms like a vice around him, holding him still. It needn’t have bothered, because the blood was rushing out of him so quickly that it left behind a feeling of perverse euphoria that rendered Benny powerless to do anything but grip the creature’s shoulders and ride the wave of ecstasy.

Blackness overtook him again.

  
When Benny came to again he was no longer chained and he was no longer sweating but he was still cold. Sizeable man though he was, he was cradled like a child in another man’s arms. Not the same one from before, not the _vampire_ , he realized, but another. A young man with dark hair, cobalt eyes, and a kind smile held him with a strength that did not match his stature. His eyes were preternaturally bright and the expression he wore would look more at home on a man many times his age. “Drink, my child,” he said in a voice that defied accent and age and pressed his wrist to Benny’s mouth.

Benny suddenly realized he was starving to death and knew in his soul that the thick blood from this man’s wrist was _precisely_ what he needed. His lips parted of their own volition and the kind man’s smile deepened as he held Benny. It was blood and it was life and ambrosia and _fucking ecstasy_ to take that first swallow. He clutched at the wrist with both hands and drank until a firm hand pushed him away. He mourned the loss for a moment until the sensation of being completely sated settled into him like never before. Benny stared up into those indescribable eyes and saw wisdom and age beyond any single lifetime and knew this was the Old Man. “Are you God?” he asked in a voice hardly suited to being called a whisper.

The Old Man nodded. “Yes.” 


End file.
